


The Pole

by houseofabrasax



Series: The Queen's Harem [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Begging, Blood, Corporal Punishment, F/M, Femdom, Harems, Master/Slave, No Sex, Punishment, Royalty, Service Kink, Sexual Slavery, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofabrasax/pseuds/houseofabrasax
Summary: His Mistress might forgive one mistake, but there are some things a servant cannot do without getting punished.





	The Pole

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring: Six

Fuck if she didn’t look radiant today.

It was all red and gold, slit very _very _high up Her Majesty’s thigh, crystals winding up her neck. And that was the view he got from underneath his lashes, rebelliously sneaking a peak while his head was bowed, his knees on the floor. His heart was pounding a mile a minute in his chest; he didn’t think he’d ever been so impatient. And he was known for his impatience.

It took years, decades, a century for all of her retinue to leave the room. He waited, bursting inside but completely still on his knees. He was still well trained, after all. Finally the heavy doors shut with a thud, and they were alone in the room. He waited.

“Up,” she said, her voice all cool authority. It sent a shiver down his spine, even after all this time, to hear her voice so easily commanding. She was born to this authority, suited for it, and he was born to serve. As soon as she let him.

He got to his feet, head still respectfully bowed, and followed her to her bed. Though she hadn’t commanded it, he knew enough to know that’s what she was looking for. He stayed standing at the side while she reclined across it, boredom seeming to pour from her posture. He was never sure if this was something she feigned to spur him on or if he really was that inconsequential to her. He knew it could be either – what was he to her? Nothing but a number. He was thankful, though; it drove him to be better, to try harder, to rise above his position as useless and replaceable.

“Strip.” He obeyed quickly, trying to hide how very desperate he was to be just a little closer, to touch, to pleasure her. He was nearly trembling as his clothes fell to the floor and he stood naked beside the bed. After that, she only crooked a single finger at him, and he was off like a rocket.

He knew the rules. The only thing he was allowed to do without express permission was kiss, touch, maybe bite. He didn’t dare touch any of her clothing, not even to move it aside. He needed permission, and besides, he was sure one inch of it was worth more than his life. But his lips found her collarbone, neck, cheek. She lay nearly still, still uninterested. _Shit, do more_. He was straddling her now, hands gently, worshipfully tracing the lines of her arms. Her body began to react, leaning gently into his touches. He doubled down, pressing firmer, kissing faster and faster on every inch of exposed skin he could find.

“Slow down, Six.” Her voice was difficult to read. “I can’t match this pace.”

He was desperate with need, could hardly stop himself kissing for a minute, and it slipped out of his mouth. “I think I can find a way to make us both happy,” he said, already inching his mouth downward.

Instantly, pain. Blinding, horrific, all-consuming pain. The kind that came from the chip in his neck, activated by her word. It was punishment; real punishment, the kind that only came when he had actually fucked up. The pain of it washed over him, followed by a sinking pit of shame. He didn’t have time to wonder what he had done before he found himself on the floor, still writhing with the aftershocks, with his mistress looming over him.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” He didn’t answer right away; it was the sort of question that didn’t seem to actually want an answer. Slowly, as his nerves stopped tingling, he remembered himself. He remembered something, fuzzy through the pain. Seven boasting to him about charming their mistress with a certain line…that he’d just repeated. 

He still hadn’t answered, but the sinking feeling in his gut had grown tenfold. _Stupid stupid stupid, how could you be so disrespectful, worthless, stupid_. The thoughts rocked through him.

“Do you suppose,” she said, very slowly, “That I am so easily amused?” There was ice in her voice. He tried to keep his limbs still, but he was trembling.

Suddenly her hands were on his chin, jerking his face upwards to meet hers. He didn’t dare meet her gaze, couldn’t bear to. “No, Mistress, I –”

“If,” she said, cutting him off instantly, “I had wanted the same few tricks over and over, I would have no need for anyone but Seven.” Her grip tightened on his jaw. “Is that what you want? To be cast out? If you’re going to do a worse version of his routine, I don’t see what your use is.”

He felt as if all the air was out of him, but he couldn’t seem to inhale anymore. “No, Mistress, please, I wasn’t thinking…”

“And that’s what I can expect from you?”

“No! No, please, I can be useful to Your Majesty, I can be better, I won’t copy anything Seven has done again, I swear it. _Please_, Mistress, I only wanted to please you, all I ever want is to please you…allow me to make it up to you, let me prove my usefulness, _please_, I’ll behave, please, Mistress…”

She dropped his chin, her anger seeming to dissipate slightly. She didn’t say anything, but the air in the room seemed to shift and her body language was clear: _you’re off the hook this time._

He dropped the rest of the way to the floor, fully prostrate, relief shaking his body. “Thank you, Mistress, I won’t disappoint you again, I’ll be so much better, thank you…” he was babbling, barely aware of the words trickling out of his mouth, pulse still beating against his ears. Until, that is, he stopped cold. He heard the word as it left his mouth, far too late to stop it.

Somehow, in his string of gratitudes, he had called her by her name.

His entire body seemed to drain of blood, replaced by icy fear. There was no way he just said that, he couldn’t have, he was so well _trained. _Maybe she didn’t hear it, maybe…

He braced himself for the pain to come back, but instead, she walked around him, over to the side of the room, and rang a bell to summon the staff. Servants slipped in immediately. _I’m being sent back, I’m being thrown out and she won’t send for me again…_He stayed completely still as he heard the cool voice give a command to someone behind his left shoulder. “Prepare the yard.”

His heart turned to lead. “At once, Your Majesty. And who–”  


“No,” she interjected. “Bring _my_ whip.”

Surely he couldn’t be hearing right. Her Majesty hadn’t disciplined one of them in living memory, they were so far beneath her attention. He could not have made her this angry. Nevertheless, the servant rushed off and there was a shuffle of activity. Meanwhile, she returned to his side, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and yanked him to his feet. She dragged his fully naked form toward the doorway, and he knew he had not misheard: she was taking him to the yard herself.

His tongue slipped again. “Please, no, Mistress, mercy, it was a mistake, it will never –”

She jerked his hair back, bringing his face close enough he could feel her hot breath. “One more sound out of you and I won’t stop until I see bone.”

She dragged him the entire way there, hands gripped so tightly in his hair he was sure he felt his scalp breaking apart. The worst part wasn’t the pain, though; it wasn’t the humiliation of being paraded naked through the palace; it wasn’t the stunned faces of staff and courtiers as they watched the scene, then hastened to follow. It was that he knew he deserved it. There was a pit deep in his stomach that he didn’t think any amount of lashing could break apart.

They finally arrived at the yard, where his fellows were standing at attention, circling the pole. He tried to scan the crowd for Seven, but couldn’t find him through the sheen of unshed tears collected in his eyes now.

The pole had already been prepped in the time it took them to walk down here, cuffs hitched to one side, ready for him. His Mistress threw him to the ground in front of the pole, and two men he couldn’t see hoisted him roughly by the arms, securing them so his back was exposed. He felt the skin around his spine twitching, as if it knew what was coming. He knew he deserved as much and worse, but that didn’t stop the fear rising as a bile in his throat.

He kept his body still, tried to relax his muscles. He couldn’t see what was happening, but imagined someone presenting her with a lash that only she ever used. Imagined her lightly fingering the handle, remembering the grip after all this time. He winced every time he heard the slightest sound, expecting the pain to begin.

He did not expect to hear her voice. The uniforms who usually beat them never bothered to explain why. “There is one thing I cannot tolerate,” she said, voice ringing in the silent courtyard. “Disrespect.”

The word hit him almost as a blow, and he didn’t have time to process it before the real blows came. Sudden, sharp. Pain erupted from the mark she had made, and he could already feel the heat radiating off his body. He wasn’t sure if he screamed, but he bit down on his lip hard to prevent any more noise. _Not another _sound. He wasn’t going to fail again.

The second blow landed, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

**

Finally the lashes let up. He could feel his back, torn open, hot blood stinging as it trickled over his fresh wounds. It was taking all his strength not to pass out, but he knew that if he dared to miss even a second of his punishment, that would be the end for him. The real end.

The yard was totally silent. No one seemed to be breathing, and she took slow, deliberate steps to the pole where he was tied. He felt as if he could sense her feet on the ground, as if each footstep was an additional lash into his raw and ribboned flesh. She crouched low beside him, her mouth close enough to his ear that he could feel her lips against him.

She spoke in a whisper. “What’s my name, Six?”

His throat burned from muffled screaming, but he managed to choke out a pathetic, withering rasp. “Mistress,” he answered.

And with that, she walked away. As soon as she was far enough that he could no longer hear her footsteps, he allowed himself to lose consciousness, slumping against the pole. 


End file.
